Red Wine

Her large pink plastic earrings clicked against her sunglasses as she walked fast into the room holding a huge bottle of red wine.  The other agents that had been in the room stopped talking for a minute and gazed over at her, some of them even allowing their jaws to drop open.

What!?” She shrieked, grabbing a corkscrew from one of the kitchen drawers and twisting it into the cork at the top of the bottle.  

“Dess…” Someone said from near her, sounding concerned.

“Not now, Kura,” Dess responded harshly, reaching up and ripping the short black wig off of her head and tossing it onto the granite counter top.  

“Is everything alright?” Kura asked, obviously oblivious to Desdemona’s foul mood.  Dess growled, yanking the cork out of the bottle and taking a big swig.  The liquid went down hot, but not burning hot like other liquors.  

“Did your mission go okay?” Kura asked, jumping a little when Dess slammed the bottle back down on the counter top.  

“Does it look like my mission went okay?” Desdemona shrieked, her brown hair falling out of its place on top of her head.  Kura swallowed hard, looking around at the others who were now busying themselves with whatever they currently had in front of them.

“Uh,” Kura said nervously, backing away from the extremely pissed off woman in front of her.  

Huh!?” Dess shrieked, spit flying from her mouth as she reached for the bottle again, taking another long swig.  

“No,” the girl squeaked, turning around and running out of the room.

“Pssh,” Dess said watching her run out before taking another swig from the bottle.

“Now that wasn’t very nice,” a male voice sounded from behind her, Dess whirled around and faced John, the most annoying agent ever to make it into AFTER.

“John,” she said, trying to sound annoyed, but it came out more surprised.  She swallowed, her throat feeling a little dry, probably due to the alcohol.  

“I think you should go and apologize,” John said, reaching out and taking the bottle of wine out of her hand.  Dess growled at him and reached out to take it back.  He held it away from her with a smirk on his face.  She snorted and crossed her arms across her chest, grinding her teeth together in annoyance.

“And if I don’t?” She asked, eyes narrowing.

“I’ll dump your whole bottle of wine here,” he said, bringing it to his lips to take a sip from the bottle before continuing, “Mmm,” he said, swishing the liquid around in his mouth, “And it tastes expensive.”  Dess just rolled her eyes.

“Why should I care?” She said, leaning closer to him, breath reeking of alcohol (and not just red wine), “I stole it.” John smirked again.

“Tch, tch, tch,” he said, wagging his finger in her face, “What am I going to do with you? You’ve been so naughty today.”  Dess blinked, arching her eyebrow and willing herself not to blush at John’s obvious sexual tone.

“Pssh,” she said, clicking her tongue, “Like you’d do anything, you’re not my dad.” Dess reached out and grabbed the bottle out of John’s hand, walking past him slow, hips swaying and practically daring him to do something about her being naughty.

“Don’t tempt me,” he warned her, eyes practically glued to her perfectly peach shaped behind.

“Like, this?” She asked, taking another swig from the bottle and heading for the stairs.  When she got to the bottom of the staircase she turned back over her shoulder and blew him a kiss.  

“Told you,” she called back to him, “you’re not man enough to handle me.”  John took in a deep breath through his nostrils, rushing to the staircase behind her.  The look on Desdemona’s face when he stopped next to her was priceless.

“And I told you not to tempt me,” he growled, grabbing the bottle and tossing it almost casually over his shoulder.  Desdemona watched, mouth agape as the wine bottle shattered against the red carpet.

“That’s gonna st—” She shrieked as John grabbed her and flung her over his shoulder, climbing the stairs to the girl’s rooms.  

“I need to teach you some manners,” he hissed, stomping down the hall and yanking open the door to her bedroom.  Once inside, he slammed the door behind him, tossing her onto the bed roughly.  She screamed, grabbing at her white comforter.  

“I just made this bed!” She screamed, grabbing one of her fluffy feather pillows and throwing it at him.  John said nothing, advancing on her and pinning her beneath him.  

“I think someone needs a spanking,” he said, flipping her over beneath him effortlessly as if she were a rag doll.  

“Let go of me!” Dess screamed against the bed, struggling to free herself.

“No,” John said, sniggering a little as he pulled his hand back and brought it down to hit her rump hard.  Dess screamed again, begging him to stop.

“Are you going to apologize to Kura?” He asked.

“God no!” she responded, he smacked her rump hard again.  She screamed, hand clutching at the comforter.

“Are you?” he asked.

“Fine!” She yelled, “Fine I’ll tell her I’m sorry!”

“And?” He asked, smacking her again, but softer and more playful this time.

“AND!?” She shrieked, there was more that he wanted her to do?

“What about me?” He asked, “Are you going to tell me that you’re sorry?”

“In your dreams!” She responded, he chuckled and smacked her butt again, so hard that it echoed off the walls.  She screamed, tears coming to her eyes.

“You seem to be forgetting the kind of position you’re in right now, Dess,” he said, hitting her butt just soft enough so it would bounce slightly.

“Fine,” she whimpered, “I’m sorry, will you please stop now?” John chuckled again, leaning down so he was right next to her ear.

“Do you really want me to stop, Dess?” He asked, his breath hitting against her cheek softly.  She took in a sharp breath, body tensing beneath him.

“I have to apologize to Kura….” She whispered, chewing on her bottom lip.

“Do you really want to do that?” he whispered, brushing her hair away from her neck softly.  Beneath him, she shivered at this touch.

“I don’t know,” she said, whimpering softly as he kissed her neck. “m…maybe…”

“Are you sure?” He asked, kissing her neck again, this time sucking a little.

“You wanted me to,” she muttered as he reached beneath her, grabbing one of her breasts and squeezing gently.  

“Well, we’re kind of busy right now, aren’t we?” He asked, nibbling on her earlobe.  Dess moaned loudly.

“Yes,” she hissed.  Maybe this time…her mind trailed off, remembering the last time John had her in a position like this, bent over a table in the computer room.  He left before he could do anything that time.  

“Don’t stop this time,” she mewled.  

“I’m not going to,” he said seductively, moving off of her a little so he could force her onto her back.

“Promise me,” she begged as he practically tore her shirt off of her and tossed it onto the floor.

“Does it seem like I’m going to stop?” He asked, pulling her up into a sitting position and kissing her roughly.  She moaned into his mouth as he squeezed one of her breasts with one hand and undid her bra with the other.

“Don’t stop,” she breathed as he pulled away to take her bra off.  He chuckled a little bit.

“I’m not going to, Dess,” he whispered, kissing her collar bone gently before moving lower to take one of her nipples into his mouth.  

“A…ah,” Dess moaned, spreading her legs a little bit.

“Wet already?” He asked before touching his tongue to her other nipple, teasing it a little before taking that one into his mouth as well, running his tongue over it in circular motions.  Dess gripped the sheets and moaned even louder.

“You like that?” He asked, amused.

“Don’t. Stop,” she gasped.  He smirked, taking her other nipple into his mouth and licking it in the same circular motion.  Dess moaned again, reaching down and pushing her already short leather miniskirt up and rubbing her clit through her white lacey panties.

“Now, now, now,” John said, pulling back from her breasts, “That’s my job.”  Dess sighed softly as he moved her hand, unzipping her skirt and slowly pulling it down over her legs.  When he got to her feet, he stopped for a moment, contemplating.

“What?” Dess asked, sitting up a little and looking at him, “Why’d you stop?” 

“I think I like the shoes better on,” he whispered, pulling her skirt off the rest of the way and letting it fall to the floor.

“Shoe fetish?” She asked, amused.  John smirked at her, but didn’t answer, instead he spread her legs, fitting himself between them and started to plant soft kisses against her stomach.

“A..ah…” she breathed, tangling her fingers in his hair.  He kept kissing lower, rubbing his thumb against her clit softly.

“Harder,” she pleaded, bucking her hips, but he did not comply, teasing her.  She moaned louder the lower he got, her loudest moan being when he reached the top of her panties.   

He stopped for a minute, watching as she arched her back and bucked her hips again.  Then he started kissing even lower, planting a soft kiss against her through her panties.  Dess took in a sharp breath, back arching, hands gripping against her blanket.  

“You like that?” He asked, teasing her a little by flicking his tongue against her clit through her panties.  She mewled loudly, hips bucking.

“Please,” she begged, opening her legs wider.  He smirked, pulling her panties to the side before flicking his tongue against her bare clit.  She hissed beneath him, biting her lip and spreading her legs as wide as they could go.  

“Mmm,” he said, pulling away from her and yanking her panties off and over her sexy red and black stiletto heels.  

“J…John” she whimpered as he let her panties slide from his hand onto the floor.

“God, you’re so sexy” he whispered, gazing down at her body. 

“I…I’m ready,” she whispered, body tensing slightly at the idea of having sex for the first time.

“Shh, Dess,” he whispered back, pulling his shirt off and undoing his belt before leaning down and pressing his chest against hers.  She gasped, wrapping her arms around him. “You’ve got to relax,” he said against her throat, planting soft kisses.

“Mmph,” she whimpered, body relaxing a little.  John sighed, kissing against her shoulder and reaching down to undo his pants.  Dess tensed again as he kicked his shoes off and pulled his pants down a little ways.

“Dess,” he warned, “relax.”

“I’m scared,” she said as he pulled his pants down to his knees and pressed himself against her softly.  She whimpered a little, feeling him press against her through his cloth boxers.  

“Shh,” he told her, leaning and kissing her forehead gently, “it’s okay, Dess.” She whimpered a little when he pulled back and kicked his jeans off before pulling his boxers off slowly.  Dess swallowed as she watched him drop the boxers into the floor with the rest of their clothes.

“Ready?” He asked, pressing himself gently against her entrance.  She whimpered, gasping and tensing beneath him.

“Shh, Dess,” he said, leaning down to kiss her inner thigh.  She signed softly as he sucked on her skin.

“I want it,” she begged, “please.”  He stopped for a moment, looking up at her and smiling softly and slipping just the tip inside of her.  She whimpered and gasped.

“S…stop,” she begged, “for a second…please…i…it hurts.”  He stopped and waited for a few seconds before slipping farther inside of her.  She whimpered again, tears springing into her eyes.  He stopped again.

“Nnn…” she whimpered, “Keep going…” He pushed in deeper, stopping every time she made a noise like she was in pain.  

“Are you okay?” He asked, finally, almost breathless.

“Don’t stop,” she whispered, “it feels so…good…” He smiled, pulling out of her a little ways before going back in.  Beneath him, she moaned, wrapping her legs around his waist, heels digging into his back just slightly.  He bit his lip, thrusting a little faster inside of her.

“John,” she practically screamed, moving her hips in time with his thrusts.

“You’re so tight,” he whispered.  She moaned his name again, rocking her hips harder into him, heels digging into his back harder.  He wasn’t sure how much longer…he sighed, pressing his face into her shoulder and biting down on her skin.  She called his name again as he pulled out, coming on her stomach.

Dess sighed a little, watching as John reached for some Kleenex from her bed side table, wiping his cum off of her.  

“You don’t have to…” she whispered and he just smiled at her, wiping the rest of his cum off before leaning down and kissing her cheek.  She giggled a little bit, smiling softly.

“I…” she started, biting her lip.  

“What?” John asked, laying down next to her and brushing a piece of hair out of her face.

“Thanks…” she said, blushing a little at how stupid she must’ve sounded just then.  John laughed, gathering her into his arms and kissing her forehead.

“I love you, Dess,” he said softly, “I….I know it took me awhile to say it…” he started, but trailed off when Dess pressed her fingers to his lips.

“It’s okay,” she told him, “If it’s any consolation, I probably said it too soon.”  He smiled down at her, kissing the tips of her fingers.

“You were perfect, by the way,” she told him, snuggling her face into his chest.  He laughed a little bit.

“But you didn’t…” he started, but she hushed him again, this time with a kiss.  

“We’ll worry about that later,” she said, “right now…all I want is…” she kissed him again before snuggling her face into his shoulder.  He hugged her tighter, naked bodies pressed together tightly.

“I love you too, by the way,” she said, a little late.  He chuckled, running his fingers through her hair.  

“It’s okay,” he said, “I pretty much already knew.”

The Original Marjorie Diaz Had a Happy Ending

The first time you see him, you’re in a group project together.  You’ve both been in the same major for nearly four years, and you’ve never seen him before.  You’ve never worked with him, never had a class with him. But you’re interested.  Just interested enough to overhear him when he begins talking about his girlfriend.  It seems like a dead end.  So you give up, but it’s a little more than love at first sight when you hear him laugh and he shoots you a smile when you make a sarcastic remark.

From then on out, he’s all sarcasm and wit and completely irresistible.  And you’ve decided that is just fine.  The group project keeps going, but instead of your little crush disappearing, it holds fast.  Every single time he says your name, your stomach decided to flip, your heart rate quickens, your pupils dilate.

So when you hear his beloved girlfriend crying in the bathroom, on the phone with her girlfriend, you may have gotten a little bit ahead of yourself.  But she needed help, and you may have needed her to get that help more than you’re willing to admit.  

She tells him on a Tuesday.  The day after your class ends.  And he stands there, and he listens, and he understands.  No hard feelings, he tells her and you stand off to the side and just watch.  Because you can’t help yourself, because somehow he’s become this overwhelming important thing in your life.  And you can’t breathe when she walks away. and. he. looks. at. you.

With that look.  The same look he’s reserved for her.  And you’re not quite sure what to do with the information your brain is encoding.  So you don’t do anything.  You smile a sad smile and wave a little bit as you go up the stairs to the left, trying to catch your breath while you lean against the bannister.  

But he’s there in an instant, his voice behind you.

“I wouldn’t trust that bannister,” he says and you jump and turn around.  And he’s wearing the most warm and inviting smile you’ve ever seen.  And you’re done for.  

It seems so easy at first.  Lunch.  Dinner.  Movies.  Cute text messages to wake up to, compliments when you know you look terrible.  And you’re so far gone you don’t notice when it changes.  

They’re at the table when you walk in.  The door was unlocked because you’d said you’d be over soon.  He always leaves the door unlocked when you text him you’ll be over soon.  After all you had plans.

They look up when you come in.  And there’s this woman you’ve never seen before, but she looks posh.  She’s drinking tea and wearing couture and you’re just in some leggings and an oversized sweatshirt because you’d been planning to play video games.

He looks surprised to see you.  But you know you sent that text.  The door was unlocked.  The door is only unlocked when you send a text first.

He says your name, rising up from the table and pulling out a chair for you.  This is something you’ve never seen him do, but you go to the chair anyways, sitting down and staring at the older woman at the table.

She looks you up and down, a stoic look on her pretty face.  But you can tell you’ve already left a bad impression.

“This is my mother,” he says, same stoic face and schooled features as he watches you.  Your eyes widen just a little bit, but your brain can’t quite process what he’s saying.

“Pleased to meet you,” his mother says, and you panic.  Because this woman is not what you expected from someone so warm and inviting and sweet.  This woman is a monster cloaked in fur and prada.  

“Y…yes,” you stammer, not quite sure what to do with your hands.  This whole situation is a mess.  But no one else’s face falters but yours.  His mother chuckles.  It’s a high pitched, airy sound.  The kind of sound you hear from people who think they’re superior to you.

“Honestly,” she says to her son, “Where did you get this one?  The Big Lots?” He sighs next to you, eyes closing slightly.  It sounds long-suffering and you’re too stunned to say anything else.  You close your mouth tight and force back nervous tears.

“What are you trying to do to this family?” She asks him, tone suddenly deadly serious as she looks you over again.  For the first time in his presence you feel like complete and utter trash.  For the first time in 3 months you feel lonely.

He says your name as you stand up and take your leave.  He calls after you, but you shut the door and walk away so you don’t have to feel so hurt anymore.  You’re not even sure what happened. You’ve never been so harshly judged by anyone, with the exception of your own mother.  

You had hoped that his mother would be kind.  And sweet.  And gentle.  But she’s so dark, and cruel, and she’s made you a laughingstock.  And. You. Feel. Like. Nothing.

Two days go by before he finally finds you alone in the library.  You haven’t been responding to his texts, calls, or messages.  Because you’ve never been so humiliated before in your life.  

And his smile has you so far gone that you spend the next 8 months trying to make everything right.  Despite your family and his family fighting you.  He doesn’t talk about his mother, and you don’t ask.  She seems to be staying away longer now and you feel safe in his tiny apartment, snuggled up on the couch, playing and watching him play games.

He beats you in Pokemon more than you’re willing to admit.  

Your final semester ends with an invitation to a ball.  You’re not quite sure who is throwing it, but according to the internet, dressing for a ball requires a lot of work and a lot of money.  You feel a little silly wishing you had a fairy godmother or maybe some animal friends to help you out.

In the end, you find a dress.  Or maybe the dress finds you.  Considering you never bought it.  It merely “showed up” in the mail.  It’s gorgeous.  Breathtaking, really.  Floor length with a sweetheart neckline, a gold sequined bodice, and taffeta layered skirt.  

It fits.  And in the back of your mind you think it’s a little bit strange, but you’re excited anyways.  You spend hours googling hair ideas, but never think about talking to him about it.  It’s to the point where you assume he’s already going with you.

The week before the ball you get a text message from an unlisted number.  Telling you the ball is that night.  The invitation was wrong.  And you’re flustered because night is only a few hours away.  And it isn’t long enough for you to be ready.

He doesn’t text you back when you send him a frantic message, asking him to meet you at your apartment.  He doesn’t even show up.  But you get dressed and go anyways, sending him the address so he’ll know where you are if he decides to make an appearance.

A car shows up to take you to the ball.  You never called a car, but you don’t want to drive yourself either.  So you get in and it takes you through the countryside and to a large mansion surrounded by woods.

When you arrive it’s like something out of a fairy tale.  You’ve never quite seen anything like it.  You’re a little wary of going alone, but the festivities beckon and your curiosity gets the better of you.  

That’s when you see him.  Escorting a beautiful woman in a pink and white low cut gown up the brick steps and into the mansion.  You bite your tongue when you see them, but it doesn’t stop you from letting out a strangled cry of surprise.  

And his eyes are on you in an instant.  As if he knew it was you.  As if he could hear your voice above the crowd.  And he’s shocked.  You run.

It doesn’t quite feel right going home.  So you sneak into the quarters of the mansion, finding an unlocked bedroom to lick your wounds in.  You’re crying beyond consolation before you find one, fingers cold and shaking.  But the room seems cozy if a little unused.  

There are a few pairs of shoes and white button up shirts tossed haphazardly on a chair by the door.  But your tears blur them all together as you make for the bed.  It’s a large king-sized bed with a wooden frame that creaks a little when you lay on the mattress.  You wrap the dark blue duvet around your shoulders, kick off your shoes, and finally let yourself go.

You feel so stupid to think that he could love you.  After all his mother would never approve.  Not ever.  Being in love is so stupid.  And god he’s never told you he loves you.  You think about how deluded you are while your eyes burn and you fall asleep.

He’s calling your name, and stroking your cheek when you wake up.  And you realize this is his room.  This is his mansion.  And your legs can’t get you away fast enough.  You’re not cut out for this life.

You’re not quite sure where you’re going to go, but you keep running.  Through the halls, down the stairs, and out of the front door.  The ground is muddy beneath your feet and it slows you down.  You can hear him behind you and you curse your skirts for the first time.  Beauty does not coincide with being swift.  Cinderella was a pro.

You make it into the woods behind the house.  Your feet and ankles sinking into the mud with every pump of your legs.  You’re struggling and your calves are burning and you can’t quite seem to make it far enough before you’re on your knees in a tiny clearing.  He’s a few steps away from you, bustling through the trees.  

“Let me explain,” he says, breathless and muddy.  And you don’t want to hear him, crawling through the mud to get farther away.  The clearing is less muddy than the woods, and you need to be able to stand up.  You need to get away.

“You were not supposed to be here,” he tells you, and you shoot him a look.  Filled with betrayal.

“I’m not with her,” he says, “I’m with you.  She’s nobody.  I was just escorting her to the ball…” he grabs your arm and pulls you to him.  He clings to you for dear life.  It seems like it’s been months since you’ve seen each other.  

“I love you,” you say because there’s nothing else you can say.  There’s no way to hold it back anymore.  And it hurts when the words from from your lungs.  And you aren’t quite sure he can return them.

Until he’s kissing you.  He’s kissing you all over and whispering those words against your skin and it’s everything you’ve ever wanted.  He gathers the front of your taffeta skirts higher on your legs and you don’t stop him.  This isn’t like every other time.  You’re both drunk on each other and you don’t want him to stop.

The first time you make love is in the mud.  Holding into each other like your lives depends on it.  You’re not quite sure where his body ends and yours begins.  And you want to stay like that forever, with him inside of you and whispering just how much he needs you into your hair.  

But it does end.  And you lay tangled up in each other until the cold sets in and he drags you to your feet.  

Two hours in a scalding hot shower isn’t enough to chase away the cold.  You snuggle, shivering under the blankets.  Drying desperately to warm each other up with kisses, and hot breath against each other’s necks until you’re tangled together again.  Promises of love, and need, and forever.  

He’s gone when you wake up in the morning, but you expected that.  However, you did not expect the old woman who is sitting in the chair by the door.  The items that had occupied it formerly have now disappeared.  And she gazes at your fiercely.  

“I suggest you put on some clothing, young lady,” she tells you, tossing you your torn and muddied dress from the evening prior.  You don’t want to put it back on, but you do as she says, trying your best to shield your naked body from her.  

The fabric is stiff, and cold, and grimy.  It scratches against your skin, but you still manage somehow.  The clasps in the back are broken.  She tosses you an oversized white t-shirt to cover what the gown cannot.

“You’re ruining this family’s bloodline,” she says, grasping your wrist and pulling you out into the hallway, “and my mistress will not have a golddigger coming after her son.”  You begin to protest, but one glare forces your mouth shut as she guides you to the front door, out of the mansion, and to a car.  

“Don’t come back,” she tells you, giving the driver the address to your parents house.  But all you want to do is go home.  Back to your apartment.  You try to tell the driver that, but he continues driving the opposite direction, back to your childhood home.  

Your mother is waiting for you on the porch when you arrive, coated in mud, tear stains on your cheeks.  But she’s not warm or apologetic, she watches you like an animal would watch it’s prey as you make your way to the front door.  

“Dry it up,” she commands you as you place your hand on the knob to the storm door and pulling.  That only makes you cry harder.

He doesn’t call.  He doesn’t text.  And you’re no longer friends on any social media accounts.  And you realize what he’s done to you.  What he’s used you for.  You were nothing but a cheap, easy lay to him.  

Your mother agrees.  And you’re not quite sure how you’re going to make it home because you’re hours away with no car, and there’s no way a cab will take you that far.

But you get a text message.  From an unknown number.  And you know it’s him.  And he’s here to take you home.  You go to your old room and pack a few things.  Things you don’t really need, but want to see in your new place.  And you walk out, leaving your family behind and baffled.  

You meet him at the car down the street and it’s beautiful.  Because he’s smiling and helping you put your luggage in the trunk between stolen kisses and hugs.  And you’re so drunk on each other that you don’t even care that people are watching.  And you love him more than anything, so much that it hurts.

Then he says, “Let’s go home.” And you’re both smiling so big that you’re afraid your face is going to fall off.  Because it sounds like a promise.  It sounds like home is somewhere you go together.  

So he takes you home while you listen to music, and talk over it because you’re so happy to be together.  And he tells you he loves you a thousand times in a thousand different ways.  And he tells you about how he knows you’re going to make it and beat all the odds.  You being poor doesn’t matter to him.

Because you’re worth so much more than money.

It’s too late, I’m sure…

He was there when she awoke, standing by the window with his arm braced against the wall.  The light from outside was just beginning to filter into the darkness of the room and her head was pounding.  She could hardly look at him it was almost too bright, the light illuminating his tan skin and bouncing off of his bloodstained white button-up shirt.

“Jonas,” she croaks out his name and he tenses at the sound.  He turns to her then, his eyes filled with concern for an instant before his expression fades into indifference.

“P,”  A woman’s voice whispers in awe from the other end of the room.  P turns her head quickly, the pounding sensation worsening in her head.  She presses the heel of her hand to her forehead, closing her eyes tight.  

There’s an IV in her wrist, she realizes as she moves her hand.  Someone had provided her with medical care and with Chuck gone she had just hoped the care they had provided was necessary and correct.  Her head throbbed, her mind racing.  Why couldn’t she remember how she got here?

“What happened?” She asked, unable to acknowledge the other presence in the room through her pain. She heard Jonas shuffle away from the window and come to her side.  His concern made her uneasy, had they not only known each other for a number of small hours?  Across the room, the woman stood as well, her shoes clicking rhythmically on the floor as she came to the bed.

“What’s the last thing you remember?” She asked, her voice soft like sunset.  P was getting the distinct feeling that there was something else, something more hanging in the room between them then just a few hours.

“They took Chuck,” she answered almost immediately.  She could feel the change in the room even though she couldn’t see it.  She could feel Willow and Jonas exchanging worried glances and it made her sick to her stomach.  What had happened in these hours, these days?  A broken, uneasy feeling rushes through her and she feels the hot sting of tears in her eyes.  What had she forgotten?

“Is he dead?” She whispered harshly, moving her hand from her face and squinting up at them.  Willow’s face swam into view first and for the first time P was struck by how beautiful she was.  Or perhaps it wasn’t the first time?  She couldn’t quite recall, broken memories swam just out of reach of her mind.

She stood tall near her, clothed in the same soiled red dress she had always been in.  Her black hair was still a mess, her dark skin marred with the same bruises and cuts she had treated only hours before.  If they wore the same clothing it couldn’t have been longer than a day, could it?  She hadn’t lost more than a few days at most, but she remembered suggesting they change, she remembered them gratefully accepting a change of clothing.  

“Why are you back in those old clothes?” She asked suddenly, not wanting to hear the answer to whether or not Chuck had survived The Glass.  She looked at them each in turn, watching with an anxious feeling deep in her gut as his Adam’s Apple bobs in his throat.  Next to him Willow sucks in a breath, her pink lips parting.  P was shaking now, her whole body trembling with anticipation and fear.  

“You’ve lost a lot of time, P.”  Jonas was the first one to speak, his brown eyes filled with so many emotions.  He was sad, concerned, angry, but there was so much more there left unspoken.  She turns her head slightly, slowly to look at Willow who was looking at her with a similar mix of emotions in her eyes.  Something dangerous passed between them, something she didn’t quite remember.  She felt her stomach knot, her skin prickle with something electric.

“How much time?” She asked, her body reacting to their closeness.  Willow reached out and gripped her hand while Jonas settled his arm behind her shoulders.  The touch was both new and familiar, it made her feel like she was floating, dizzy with an emotion she didn’t quite understand.

“It doesn’t matter, P,” Willow says with a soft smile, leaning forward to press her forehead against P’s own.  At first P wanted to flinch away, the contact seeming so new and unwanted, but she remained there, unflinching and allowing the contact.  It made her stomach roll, erupt into a feeling she had never before experienced, her skin was hot beneath the touch.

“It does matter,” P complained, her eyes fluttering closed in some sort of muscle memory as Willow bumped her nose against her.  Jonas, for his part, remained calm and silent next to them, his hand gripping her shoulder in a reassuring touch that should have made P feel disgusted, but left her wanting more.

“You still remember,” Willow whispered, noting how she leaned into them for comfort.  P tensed, she didn’t remember, not quite.  She could tell there was something hanging in the air between the three of them, something she couldn’t quite touch, but it was there and it was palpable.  Willow tilted her head, nose brushing against hers once more.  P opened her eyes slightly, mouth watering, heart thudding in her chest.  

“I don’t remember,” P corrected, her eyes half closed, her lips parted in some strange sexual way she had only seen in magazines.  Her body reacted in ways that betrayed her.  In ways she didn’t quite understand.  

When she surged forward, so quickly it almost hurt, Jonas’s hand falling from her shoulders in surprise, it was almost as if she had not acted of her own accord.  Her lips found Willow’s, soft and warm against her own.  Her head ached, her body stinging in pain, but it all took a backseat to the feeling of the moment.  

Willow allowed her hands to rise, cupping P’s face, tilting back her head, fingers scratching softly at her jaw in a way that made P shiver.  She could feel the tears now, falling hot over her cheeks, catching on Willow’s fingers at her jaw.  Jonas stirred next to her, his hands on her again, cradling her back, rubbing soft circles between her shoulders.  She knew she should find it strange, should find the touch in such an intimate moment to be unwanted, but she didn’t.

Beneath his touch, her skin ignited.  Her lips moved hungrily against Willow like a woman starved.  It was like she had been without food, without water, without breath in her lungs.  When she finally pulled away, Willow lingered, eyes still closed and lips parted.  

She struggled to breathe, these newfound sensations nearly overcoming her, but before she could think another set of lips found her own, his fingers beneath her chin, tilting her head back gently.  Her head sang in pleasure and pain as he kissed her.  His once clean-shaven face now had a very pronounced stubble that tickled and scraped against her face in rhythm with his lips.

She had lost time, she had lost too much time she knew.  Her body’s reaction was a not only a betrayal to her mind, but it was also filled with a whisper of her memories.  When had they done this?  When had they become this?  She pulled back from him, heart thundering in her ears as she laid back on his arm and watched them.

Both of their eyes wide now and glassy with tears.  She swallowed as her own tears continued to fall.  This was a situation she had never been in before.  She had never lost her memories, never experienced the power of whatever electric feeling passed between them.  She reached up to run her hands through her hair, noticing for the first time that her head was closely shaven and her fingers had instead met the indentation of a large wound.  She pulled her hand away immediately, a loud, sharp sound escaping her mouth before she could stop it.  

Her eyes were on her companions again, searching.  She was mutilated.  She had been injured and severely at that.  The indentation in her head indicated a wound that was deep, but had begun to knit together again.  The time she lost echoed between them, her fear and self-hatred escaping through her tears that had begun flowing faster.

“Am I dead?” She asked suddenly, not trusting what was passing between them.  This harmony of need and want.  The feeling of something so much larger than herself, unable to be contained within her.  It felt so much like bliss, the harmony she had always been taught death brought to the people of The Sand.

“You’re not dead,” Willow spoke immediately with a sharp, startling laugh.  Her tears finally began to fall down her face, her gaze settling on the wound wound that marred P’s face.  It was a large, terrifying scar that stretched from her chin to the apex of her scalp that was held together by stitches and grafts of skin from the dermal regulator.  It was a wonder they had saved the sight in her eye.  

“You’re not,” Jonas confirmed, pressing a soft, tentative kiss against her scalp to the right of her ugly scar.  She felt his tears slide against her short hair, tingling against her skin as he wiped them with his thumb.

“I don’t understand,” P said, her voice sounded broken, confused.  She looked at both of them in turn, the ache in her head and neck forgotten for now in lieu of understanding what had been done to her.  

“You are very much alive,” Willow said, her voice sounding almost distant.  As if it had sparked something within her, a ghost of a memory that skipped away from her probing finger tips.  

“You’ve said that to me before,” P said, brow furrowed.  Willow nodded sadly, her tears zig-zagging against the dirt on her skin.  She could feel it, the ghostly haze of a memory igniting within her.  Next to her Jonas and Willow were silent as she worked through it, lost in the fog.

She could see it, almost as if she were watching a story.  There was screaming, impossibly loud noises popping all around them as she lay bleeding on the floor.  Her head ached as if it were on fire, her eyes coated in a liquid so thick she could not open them as she lay there choking on her own blood.

She could feel Willow next to her, her voice was soft and still against the torrent of other impossible sounds.  Her hands were gripped harshly against her wrists.  

“Stay with me,” her voice said, the only thing she could hear.

“Am I dead?” P struggled to ask against the blood streaming into her mouth.  She was choking, fading away by inches.

“No,” Willow said, voice loud and certain, “You are very much alive, and you are loved.”

“Loved?” P asked when she came from the memory, her eyes on Willow an understanding settling between them.  Willow nodded, choking back a sob. Love.  She was loved.  She turned to Jonas, her tears falling in earnest, making her eyes ache.

“Loved?” she asked him and he nodded too, holding her to his chest as gently as he possibly could.  

Star Wars: Zero Gravity (NSFW)

Pairing: Anakin/Padme 

Rating: M

Summary: A short zero grav smut drabble I wrote a few years ago.


They had been fighting when she followed him into his training chamber. She was a politician, a queen, he couldn’t expect her to be around more than she already was. He was always off on missions, it was difficult to be together. 

Inside the chamber, they continued their raised voices, Anakin was almost consumed by his emotions. He flipped the switch on the wall, removing the gravity from the chamber. 

“What are you doing?” She yelled, feeling her feet leave the ground, her skirt floating around her legs. Anakin grinned at her. 

“Sweeping you off your feet,” He says with a disarming grin. She glares at him.

“I’m still mad at you,” she says, crossing her arms as she floats helplessly through the air. But she couldn’t stop the smile that came as she watched Anakin float in zero gravity. 

“We don’t have time to be angry,” Anakin said, kicking off the wall and making his way towards her, flying through the room. They collided with one another and she yelped as he attempted to kiss her. 

His lips found hers easy enough and she laughed as they spun upside down, floating above the floor. He pulled her close to him, kisses becoming more passionate and insistent despite their laughter. 

Anakin tried desperately to keep the two of them together, his hands traveling across her back, and trying and failing to hike up her long skirt. For her part, Padme continued to laugh, but helped him by kicking away and slowly, whilst still spinning and flying in zero gravity, stripped off her clothing.

Anakin watched with interest as his wife struggled to remove her layers of skirts, shirts, and a variety of other things before she stared at him with a coy smile clad in nothing but her undergarments.

“You’re still clothed,” Padme said, sounding disappointed.  There were so few times she and Anakin got to enjoy each other like this.  She laughed when Anakin began to hastily strip his clothing off as well, turning every which direction as he tried to remove his boots.  

When he was naked before her, she eyed his body appreciatively.  Years of Jedi training had made him muscular and toned.  He watched her with a combination of lust and adoration in his eyes and she removed her last two garments, letting them float around them amongst the heap of other clothing.

Anakin held up his hand then, pulling Padme towards him.  Her body felt warm, her skin covered in goosebumps, and she could feel herself moving through space.  So there were other uses for The Force.  She smirked wickedly as he pressed his body against hers.

She lay her head against his chest, bringing her legs up to wrap around his waist.  She was closer to him than she had been previously, and neither were spinning.  She could still feel the power of the force over her, gently, but still present.  She supposed this was the only way they could do this without incident.  

He held her to him, his hands stroking over her ass and legs as she locked her ankles behind him.  Her body felt so lightweight and free, it was almost strange.

He slid into her with ease, and she felt the push and pull of his ability.  She felt like the tide, caught between Anakin and The Force as he made love to her.  He used one of his hands to pull her head back from his chest, pressing his lips to hers.

She felt lost in the sensations of him, of floating, of being pulled against his body.  He was sweating, moaning against her mouth, while she stayed still for him, her moans coming out in short pants of breath as he kissed her.

“Close,” he whispers to her and she’s so lost in the feeling of him she almost doesn’t recognize what the meaning of that word is.  She moves one of her hands from the back of his neck down her stomach and strokes herself so she can come with him.

And she does, body trembling and jerking as he moans her name against her throat.  Her body feels warm, boneless, and sated as he empties himself inside of her.  And she kisses him, short and chase as he comes down from his orgasm, her walls still fluttering around him from the aftershocks of her own.

“I love you,” he says against her lips.  She doesn’t even remember what they were fighting about.

Thanthos

It wasn’t the kind of place you’d expect to see someone like her. She was the type you’d see in the underground poetry clubs bearing her emo soul out before an audience that felt much of the same thing. 

She had short black hair that curled under her chin and bangs that covered her right eye, a pale complexion, red-painted lips, and she wore a lot of black eyeliner. She was one of those goth-emo types that seemed to attract his attention. However, this girl was different from his normal infatuations. She didn’t seem like a tormented soul at all as she lay out in a field of wild flowers, but he knew better.

He positioned himself in a sitting position on top of a large rock on the far end of the field and watched her as she lay there beneath the night sky, a soft breeze moving the flowers around her body. 

“Hey,” she said, without even opening her eyes. He didn’t answer her salutation, instead he slid from the rock and approached her. 

“Desdemona?” He asked, even though he already knew it was her.

“Yes,” she answered, eyes still closed. He knelt next to her and stared at her pale face, red lips, and charcoal painted eyes.

“I am Thanthos,” he answered, “I have a request.”

“And if I refuse?” she questioned, obviously knowing what the michevious spirit was up to.

“You know full well,” he began, “what will happen if you refuse me.”

“I do,” she answered. He traced over her cheek with black painted nails as she lay completely still. 

Flash Fiction: A Different Kind of Graveyard

SPOILERS FOR MARJORIE DIAZ BOOK ONE

This is a re-imagining of the iconic ending scene. You have been WARNED.

“I wasn’t going to show you this,” Lucian said the moment she and Marjorie had come home from dinner with her parents after graduation, “but considering you managed to piss off the entire Watkins clan, I feel like I sort of have to at this point.”

Marjorie looked at her as if she had lost her mind. “Um, okay. But I’m really exhausted after today and whatever so can it wait until I’ve slept?”

Lucian crossed her arms and narrowed her eyes. “No.”

Marjorie let her head fall back and she groaned. “Lucian, please.”

“It won’t take long and I’ll sleep better knowing you know and everything is right with the world because holy shit has it been hard not to tell you.”

Marjorie groaned again. “Fine, but can we at least have coffee?”

“We’ll buy some on the way, my treat.”

“On the way?” Marjorie asked, “You mean we have to leave again? I don’t think either of us is okay enough to drive.”

“I’m fine.”

Marjorie eyed her suspiciously.

“What? I am.”

“Fine, whatever, but if we die because you fall asleep at the wheel I’m going to come back from the dead and kill you. I don’t care if it isn’t possible. I’ll make it possible.”

“How do you know it’s not already possible?” Lucian said quietly with a wan smile.

*

Lucian drives them to a graveyard. It’s thick with trees and shadows and almost impossible to see from the road.

Marjorie looks absolutely pissed. “A graveyard?” Her voice is almost shrill, hands clenching and unclenching by her sides as if she isn’t sure whether she should punch Lucian or not.

“Yep,” Lucian said, “a graveyard.” She parked the car. “Come on.”

Marjorie complained, but she followed anyways. She was too tired to argue.

Lucian led her through a thicket of trees to a closed off area at the back of the cemetery. There were only a few gravestones. A few giant concrete angels, a few bronze plaques on the ground, with the rest of the space made up by a mausoleum.

“Why are we here?” Marjorie asked. She looked exhausted and annoyed. After the week she’s had, Lucian can’t really blame her.

“I’m going to show you a different kind of graveyard,” Lucian said, pulling a small black skeleton key out of her pocket.

“Please tell me you’re not going to unlock that mausoleum,” Marjorie deadpanned.

“No,” Lucian says, offering the key to Marjorie, “this is for you.”

Marjorie stared at her blankly. “Why?”

“Just take it,” she said, offering the key more insistently.

Marjorie rolled her eyes. “If I take it, can we leave?”

“Yes.”

“Fine.”

Marjorie takes the key and the entire world transforms around her.

In her hand the key morphs from the simple black skeleton key to an enormous golden sword. The cemetery was no longer empty. Ghosts floated all around them, friendly smiles on their faces.

“Huh. A sword,” Lucian said at the same time Marjorie flung it onto the ground.

“What. The. Fuck!” Marjorie shrieked.

Lucian smiled at her. “Welcome to the magical realm.”

Flash Fiction: Summoning Demons and Other Bad First Date Ideas

From my upcoming novel: A City of Glass & Sand

“Jonas where are we going?” P asked, struggling to keep up. Jonas was standing just ahead of her, holding both her and Willow by their wrists and dragging them along.

Both women exchanged a glance, Willow’s golden eyes were squinted, her thick lips pursed, and P looked pissed.

“I’m taking you two on a date,” he said excitedly.

“What?” Willow and P asked in unison.

“A date!” Jonas said again, turning over his shoulder to flash his teeth at them in a quick smile. “We’ve been together for forever and we’ve never really been on a date what with all this Efeara bullshit that went down and I think that right now immediately is the perfect time for us to do this.”

“Jonas have you lost your mind?” P asked.

“Plus the moon is full and the book I read said the moon needed to be full for this,” he continued on, ignoring P and Willow’s protests.

“Why does the moon need to be full for us to go on a date?” Willow asked, sounding skeptical.

“We’re going to summon a demon.”

Both Willow and P stopped at the same time. Jonas nearly yanked their arms out of their sockets pulling them forward again.

This was probably the absolute worst idea ever, but they both loved him. So they allowed it. 

When they managed to summon the evil spirit of Efeara and she destroyed the whole town, they instantly regretted it, but in the end it was probably the best first date any of them could have asked for.